Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
From deep in the chasms, hear my voice!
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
You were Styrofoam cups bound together with reed string, the bicycled inclines and scraped forehead.
You’ll remember white—for example—Mari’s favorite.
As for Lalo, the glimpse of tiny flowers.
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
[it’s real when they say it]
Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.
everyone likes you
because your parents are dead.
Still have the scar from that bubble on the back of your wrist.
an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage
“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
You’ll remember white—for example—Mari’s favorite.
As for Lalo, the glimpse of tiny flowers.
From deep in the chasms, hear my voice!
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
everyone likes you
because your parents are dead.
Still have the scar from that bubble on the back of your wrist.
You were Styrofoam cups bound together with reed string, the bicycled inclines and scraped forehead.
[it’s real when they say it]
Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.
an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage
“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”
They know nothing of the living.
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.
A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.
It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.
CHILDHOOD IS SOMETHING ELSE.
a type of speech
MINUTIAE
Will you get married?
Yes
When?
Soon
To who?
Me
Who are you?
Papa
The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
You’ll remember white—for example—Mari’s favorite.
As for Lalo, the glimpse of tiny flowers.
everyone likes you
because your parents are dead.
Still have the scar from that bubble on the back of your wrist.
[it’s real when they say it]
They know nothing of the living.
Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.
It will only be real and intense when it detaches from the stalk and its essence dries.
From deep in the chasms, hear my voice!
an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage
“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.
You were Styrofoam cups bound together with reed string, the bicycled inclines and scraped forehead.
A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.
CHILDHOOD IS SOMETHING ELSE.
a type of speech
MINUTIAE
Will you get married?
Yes
When?
Soon
To who?
Me
Who are you?
Papa
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
You’ll remember white—for example—Mari’s favorite.
As for Lalo, the glimpse of tiny flowers.
[it’s real when they say it]
everyone likes you
because your parents are dead.
an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage
“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”
From deep in the chasms, hear my voice!
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
You’ll remember white—for example—Mari’s favorite.
As for Lalo, the glimpse of tiny flowers.
everyone likes you
because your parents are dead.
Still have the scar from that bubble on the back of your wrist.
From deep in the chasms, hear my voice!
They know nothing of the living.
You were Styrofoam cups bound together with reed string, the bicycled inclines and scraped forehead.
[it’s real when they say it]
Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.
Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
From deep in the chasms, hear my voice!
You’ll remember white—for example—Mari’s favorite.
As for Lalo, the glimpse of tiny flowers.
[it’s real when they say it]
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
everyone likes you
because your parents are dead.
an underground city
a walled-in heart
a bronze-domed stage
Still have the scar from that bubble on the back of your wrist.
They know nothing of the living.
Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.
“No one’s going to find you here if you don’t make noise, not even the one you make when you suck in your boogers.”
visualize the voice of thought.
think the image of the voice.
provoke destiny. play.
from chance, from the sigh.
understand the force that links
the image to the name.
the name is an image.
the image is a verb.
play. nothing is chance.
destiny is a game.
everything is destiny.
—